All That Remains
by TheWillOfMythal
Summary: Shaw has escaped from Samaritan and now she is back. A series of moments after her return with the rest of the team, and especially with Root.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone!

So, with the ending of the last season I started thinking about the scenes between Shaw and the rest of Team Machine that I wanted to see after her great return and that didn't happen, so I came up with this, just a series of shots about Shaw and TM, but mostly Shaw and Root of course :) because I think they deserved a bit more after the long, long wait for their reunion (and also a possible happy ending after Samaritan's defeat). This would also be my first Person of Interest story.

Anyway, before I continue with another chapter I would like to know what you think about this one first :)

Usually I write in first person, but I'm trying a new style lately, one that I think suits maybe a little better when talking about Shaw's complex character and personality.

I apologize for eventual grammar errors (english is not my first language)

Enjoy

* * *

It is a noise, you realize, the one that slowly starts dragging you from a rare, dreamless, blissful slumber and towards conciousness and its unknown reality.

A string of barely mumbled words followed by a precise, constant, clicking like sound that flares with familiarity in your mind, suddenly cleaning the thick fogginess there and jolting you awake.

You ignore the protests of your body, the ache in your muscles that pierces deep into your bones and throbs all the way to your skull as you jerk upright, bracing yourself on the couch where you were resting and letting your unfocused vision adjust in the partial darkness.

The safe house.

The city lights shining against the black velvet of the night give a shape to the shadows surrounding you, and a first quick glance is more than enough for you to recognize the vast space.

"Hi there sleepyhead,"

And you are not alone.

But even in your startled awake state you already knew this, just like you knew who that person was even before they spoke from somewhere in the dark behind you.

The only presence is filling the room in a way that you can't quite describe.

And damn, if the sound of that voice isn't enough to make you lose the death grip you had on the cushions just a little, releasing it completely when that person finally comes into view, closing and setting gently her laptop aside on the coffee table.

"It's okay sweetie. It's just me..."

From the moment she crouches down beside you on the couch, you can't take your eyes off her.

The warmth in that light whisper is... Compelling. Calming even. But there is something in the way the moonlight traces the line of her soft smile and caresses her features, making her look like some kind of vision. It almost makes you want to reach out and touch her, just to make sure that she is real.

Almost.

Instead you force your hand on the back of your head and let your fingers search for that now too familiar spot behind your left ear.

You barely remember getting here. The exhaustion of the escape and of a week spent running across half of the globe while remaining invisible to the all seeing eye evidently had the better on you. Or maybe Samaritan finally got a little more creative with this whole simulation crap, you think, knowing that it could easily be the case, yet you find no sign of the chip in your skull.

No cuts or stitches.

No bandages.

Nothing.

You know the confusion must be showing on your face, bacause a moment later Root is pulling your searching hand away from your head and holding it in hers, gingerly, but not uncertainly as she reassures you.

"It's okay, Sameen. You are safe now."

The words are sincere, although she sounds like she can barely believe that herself.

You still don't allow yourself to either. But you can't fight the comfort that you find in the gentle touch that she is offering.

For probably the first time, the thought of pulling away from such contact doesn't even cross your mind.

"How long have we been here?"

Your voice sounds foreing to your own ears when it comes out. Deep and husky, filled with tiredness and a shade of apprehension, although you would never admit so, even if you know that she has probably already caught its edge on both your voice and look.

"Just a few hours," She answers then lightly. "I thought you could use some sleep."

She is not wrong. You feel like you have just woken up the day after the most destructive workout of your life, aching muscles and all, and it just occurs to you that this was probably the first time you have ever slept, honestly slept for something more than twenty miserable minutes hidden in some foreing place, after your escape, and that your body, after having been restrained to a bed for months doesn't feel like the strong, fast, ready to jump from a helicopter one that you remember. But you can ignore all of that for the moment, taking another look around in the dark, empty, silent living room instead.

"The others?"

She was probably expecting you to ask such question if the soft smile that tugs at her lips is anything to go by.

"Everyone's fine. Harry's in the subway, and the big lug is with Lionel at the precint. Apparently the boys had a fun night. Managed to turn the bullpen into a shooting range."

You pull yourself up a bit more on the couch, and despite the stiffness of your body for the movement, a small, still slightly sleepy smirk tugs at your lips after hearing this.

"It seems like I have missed a lot of fun around here during these months, huh?"

She doesn't answer to this. Just flashes you the tiniest smile, one that doesn't reach her soft brown eyes, before tilting her head down and look at your still joined hands, feeling the weight of her absent gaze added to the gentle one of her hold.

You don't like that look.

It's foreing seeing it on her features, and even if you don't know what it means, it tightens your chest so very uncomfortably.

Yet, at same time, there is something strangely reassuring in her hold, in the feeling of her thumb tracing the lenght of the still fresh, still sensitive pink scar that crosses your palm.

You have done it yourself before. More than once when you've learned that you have gotten it for real and not just during another simulation. It has been some kind of concrete link to reality; looking at it as if there in your palm, between all those meaningless intricate lines, was engraved the map that would have kept you sane and led you back home.

Home.

You watch as Root shakes her head in thought right before she answers you, softly, filling the silence in the room and the distant, muffled sound of traffic running on the streets below with just a whisper of voice.

"All that matters to me is that you are back, Sameen. And safe." Whatever you see appearing in her eyes, is gone before you can understand what it was, light a lightining, and for the next minutes you are unable to get rid of the sensation that makes you feel like you have just lost a critical segment of something very, very important. But not exactly unfamiliar.

You curse a little in your own head for having missed it. But then, just as quickly, that look is replaced by a smirk that you know all too well, although it isn't in full force like the ones you remember as, with her unmistakable perky and cheerful tone she says "Don't worry though, the fun never ends around here. You know trouble has a way to stick with us."

A lame, awkward attempt to normalcy that, for how much she tries, has the exact opposite effect.

You would have probably dismissed it in any other day before, but definitely not now.

"Root."

Pretending is pointless.

She knows you are not biting this.

So she just tilts her head down and nods, like a child that has been caught doing something that wasn't suppoused to and knows she can't deny the evidence.

The silence stretches into minutes, thick, but strangely enough, not as tense as you would have expected. And for all the time you never take your eyes off her, even if all you can see is a curtain of soft brown locks shielding her face.

A few more moments pass. And when she finally tilts her head up to meet your gaze again, the first thing that you notice is the glassy look in her eyes, the way they glisten and shine even in the dark.

You wonder if the ones swimming in there are the same tears that have welled up just a few hours previous during your encounter in the park, when she has seen you for the first time after months.

You remember feeling her wrap her arms around you, craddling your head and holding you securely, close against her, as if you could turn into a puff of smoke and vaporize in the air at any moment. You have felt her tremble against you, and you have just remained there, unblinking, unmoving, as if trying to catch up with reality, not knowing if you should trust it, but eventually, your eyes have fluttered shut, and just for a moment, just for the briefest second, you have allowed yourself to believe in it. Right before you pulled away, without sparing her a second glance as you started to walk away.

It isn't lost to you the need to feel the exact opposite right now. And it just occurs to you that maybe, the moment that Root is taking, is to process a reality that even she is still having a hard time believing in. Trying not to be too emotional over this. Because that would probably make you feel uncomfortable, and she doesn't want that, the fool. Who has considered your comfort above the one of anyone else in certain situations. Especially above her own. Especially when it involved the whole unknown territory of the feelings-stuff department.

The knowledge hunts you.

And when she speaks, you can practically feel the weight of the effort that she is putting to keep her voice light and steady. For you.

"Did you get my message?"

You know of what message she is talking about. You probably already suspected that this was what she was going to ask even before she asked it. Because you know that it's the one and only reason you are now here, alive, breathing, and able to have this conversation with her in the first place. Because of a crackling morse code.

And you understand that, just like she managed to do with you in that moment, now it's up to you to get her back from the dark spiral she is stuck into.

"It's very hard to ignore that kind of alarm." You tell her, chosing your words carefully and sounding more light than you never thought you were able to. "And... I'm here now, right?"

The chocked laugh of relief and unequivocal happiness that she breathes out, in its spontaneity, is probably the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. Even if when she answers through a bright, teary smile, for how much she tries not to, her voice cracks a little.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

You don't want to give in to your heavy eyelids, but with Root's hushed encouragements you can't fight the sleep that eventually claims you back in its embrace after a short while.

The warmth slipping from your hand leaves you cold and the sensation hunts you in your dreams, where even there you can't understand how the loss of such a simple contact, such a small gesture is making you feel so uneasily vulnerable and exposed, as if it was the only thing that kept you anchored and shielded from the nightmares that take form in your head.

Fighting against those violent figures becomes exhausting. You feel hot and bothered, but luckily, the sensation doesn't last for long.

After a while everything turns quiet.

Over the disorienting veil of the dreamlike world you catch a shift and dip on your sleeping surface. You couldn't question it even if you had the strength and awareness to, but all you know, is that from that moment, you sleep peacefully and deeply for what you think must be the rest of the night.

When you wake up several hours later, the first thing you register, even before the first weak morning lights coming though the large windows that makes you squint your eyes a little, is the warm body pressed against your front. And the unmistakable scent of leather, green apple and delicate bourbon vanilla filling your nostrils.

Root is here with you.

Sound asleep.

With your arm wrapped protectively around her waist and her silky wavy brown hair thickling your nose.

She feels so soft and warm and Root and real. But again, the softness and heat of her body against yours from all the simulations have felt no less real.

You don't get scared. You never did. But you can recognize fear, and sure as hell, you know that right now, it may be the closest you got to feel such thing.

The urge to reach for the chip is almost overwhelming in the need to know if you can trust all of this.

Because it feels so comforting and it's the first thing that feels truly familiar in all the right ways after months. And safe, the back of your mind add quietly in between a thousand of contrasting thoughts.

A great part of you wants to get up and run as far away from here - from Root - as possible. Because simulation or not, for probably the first time in your life, you are also damn unsure of yourself.

But then, just like a sign to give you a reason to stay, Root shivers a little against you in her sleep. A shudder that crawls up for all the length of her spine. You hear her whimper oh so softly and see her eyebrows knit together for a fraction of second, but she doesn't stirr. She doesn't wake up.

She remains there peacefully asleep, even if cold, and you feel something pulling from somewhere deep down in you; a core that somehow has managed to remain unreachablefrom Samaritan's poisoned clutches.

You consider taking a moment to think properly, to try and find an order between the pieces of your scrambled mind, try to separate simulation from dream and from reality. But honestly, you know you are nowhere close to be able to do that right now. You probably don't even want to.

So when you feel Root shiver a second time, you just pull her closer against you. And then you close your eyes, hearing her sigh softly and contently in her sleep.

And probably that was all you needed.

This time, you decide, you'll stay.

 **. . .**

The first time Bear sees you is almost a week later in the subway, and he is not ashamed of showing how much he has missed you, practically charging you like a bull and almost succeeding in knocking you on the floor as he greets you enthusiastically, tail wagging excitedly like you've never seen him do before.

"I've missed you too buddy." You laugh as you pet him turning your face from side to side in an attempt to escape from his sloppy kisses. Then, all of a sudden he pulls away from your face to do something very unusual, like stuck his long nose in your business and showing lots of interest.

"Oh, come on Bear! What are you doing you perv..." You would try to push him away with more conviction if you weren't distracted by the content hum of agreement that makes you look up at an amused Root. Head tilted to the side and that mischievous - kind of dreamy-creepy - smile on her face that you have pretended to find impossibly infuriating and annoying for so long.

"What?" Only this time you are far from annoyed, and don't even bother to try to cover the heavy note of amusement that seeps into your voice.

Root simply looks at you. Her smile turning into a grin that widens till her molars. Oh, if she isn't enjoying this... "He certainly knows where to find the most interesting things."

Bears keeps sniffing with interest in your crotch and any attempt to wrestle him away is only met with even more resistance.

Stubborn pervert dog.

You are almost proud actually. Although you are starting to suspect this is some kind of trick that Root has somehow managed to teach him during your absence.

"Jealous?" You tease her at last through an arched eyebrow and a smirk pulling at your lips.

She shakes her head in negative. "Hmm. He can sniff all he wants, and right now he is just sniffing for something for me to find down there, isn't that right boy?"

The most dangerous growl is already bubbling in your chest at her obvious implication, but much to your horror Bear barks happily in agreement with Root in her direction before dismissing you completely and trotting at her side.

You are pretty sure you must have just dislocated your jaw after witnessing this.

Because it wasn't already enough that she talked all day long with the Machine through a direct line installed in her skull. Nine months of your absence and now she can speak to the dog too, of course, and apparently has also a deep understanding with the one who happened to be your favourite and most _bear_ able member of the team.

Ugh.

You hate yourself a little for coming up with that one.

You still glare down at him though, watching as he tilts his head at you and whines in confusion from his obediently sat position next to Root.

Traitor.

You know that in order to catch up you'll have to buy him some very good, very yummy treats and probably consume your rotator cuff from playing fetch with him too.

Root, on her part, beams, looking so incredibly pleased with herself for putting that look on your face. And of course, before you can come up with anything to say, she tilts her head to the side and adopts that listening expression that you haven't forgotten. The one that covers her face whenever She is speaking to her.

"I have to go. She needs me somewhere." She announces as you expected just a moment later giving you another bright smile. "Don't worry though sweetie, John is on his way here with something for you." You really hope he's bringing lunch. After dealing with Root and what you still stubbornly somehow pretend to call the annoyance caused by her, you need to sink your teeth angrily into something juicy and extremely spicy.

You watch her silently as she gathers a few things from one of the desks before walking towards you, all smiles and cheerfulness that only fuels said annoyance, yet you don't pull away when she leans in and whispers hotly in your ear "I wonder if you'll try to fight me just as hard when it will be my head buried between your legs, Sameen."

You want to tell her that you could easily choke her with just your thighs in case she tried, but you know that the threat would probably appeal her even more. Damn, the idea actually turns you on more than what you'll never admit. But you decide to just growl at her instead, trying to ignore the fact that it actually sounded much more like the groan of appreciation at the thought that you where desperately trying to suppress along with the all too familiar shiver caused by her warm breath and that has made its way down your spine to settle with a persistent throb in your lower belly.

"I'll see you later sweetie." With that and another unsuccesful attempt to "wink" she leaves, boots clicking that unique symphony on the floor as she strides towards the stairs, hips swaying almost hypnotically.

You are startled by the sound of your own groan that escapes at that sight.

True to Root's words, John arrives not even a minute later. A large paper bag in his hand and a knowing smirk on his face that says that he has obviously met Root on his way down here, and has obviously already made the connection between her recent presence and your pretended scowl.

"How is it going, Shaw?" He can't resist but tease you and pretend to make it look innocent. The bastard.

He is lucky that your stomach is rumbling louder than your trigger finger is itching.

"Shut up." Without another word you snatch the paper bag from his hand and shoot him the most intimidating glare you can manage which he only answers with an even wider, more amused, infuriating smirk before greeting a much more friendly and excited Bear who then follows him happily towards his weapon locker.

You are actually glad that Reese is here, but you can't deal with him and his teasing right now, especially not on an empty stomach.

So you sit down on the bench and sink your teeth into what you are pleased to see is your favourite sandwich, groaning obscenely at the mouth watering taste that improves esponentially your mood with every bite. Although this time, as you finish it and lick a drop of mustard from your thumb, it doesn't leave you as satisfied as usual, and you suspect, if the way you kept squirming on your seat for all this time is anything to go by, that the last thing that Root has said to you before leaving has triggered a whole other kind of appetite in you.

* * *

 **Just a little hurt, a little humor and a little Bear for now :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone!

I'm glad you have enjoyed the first chapter and I wanted to thank you for the kind reviews :) Here's the second chapter for you, it starts right where the previous one left.

Enjoy

* * *

John comes back from his locker just as you take the last noisy sip of the coke he brought you, sitting down on the bench, knowing that is safe enough for him to approach you now that you have eaten something at least, and flashing you a genuine smile as he hands you his unloaded 9mm beretta and a relatively clean mechanic rag.

"Do you mind?" He asks already knowing your answer by the excited grin that spreads instantaneously across your face.

It's almost like he has just offered you his dessert.

And you accept eagerly.

"It's good to see that the department has chosen these babies as your service weapons," You say approvingly as you pull back the slide for all the way, earning a satisfying metallic clicking sound as the barrel is left exposed.

Reese grabs the paper bag set on the other side of the bench, pulling out and unwrapping his part of the lunch just as you finish to disassemble the top of the gun.

"My service weapon is a glock actually," He informs sounding somehow sad before taking a consolatory bite from a rich gyro sandwich. "This one is just for... Fun."

It's not like Reese denigrates certain categories of guns, he can shoot with practically anything that is handed to him, but just like you, he has his preferences too. And just like yours, his are a little refined.

You scoff, shaking your head disapprovingly at that information. "I hate the glock. Is just an overpriced piece of plastic, like a toy." You comment as you start cleaning with care the nice italian made gun. "Most of Samaritan's operatives use those too actually. That's probably part of the reason why their aim is shit."

"Or another good reason might be that they recruit a bunch of puppets with no experience that have never even seen a gun before in their lives," Reese remarks around his second bite and through an amusing stuffed smirk that almost makes you laugh. "Better for us."

A fresh new mix of dirt and gunpowder is added on the mechanic rag after a first general rub and your face scrunches up with a bit of disgust. "Jesus Reese," You scold him never taking your eyes off your work as you try to fit a rolled up angle of the rag through the barrel. "Have you ever actually cleaned this one at all?"

"I thought you should have had the pleasure, Shaw." He teases putting his sandwich aside to open his bottled water and take a sip and you scoff, a sound between growl and a laugh escapes your lips before he continues. "Almost every bullet I have fired with that gun has been properly introduced to Samaritan's agents, so..."

This time you smirk. "Well, if you put it that way I guess I have nothing to complain about."

You can't see him since you're still focused on the gun in your hands, but you know that he is smiling at you.

He reasumes eating and you both stay silent for the next few minute. You and John never needed a great exchange of words anyway, and the silence is a comfortable one in the pleasantly cool air underground.

It took a week for you to get over the uncomfortable frustrating doubt and foreing crippling sensation that has oppressed you at the thought of returning here, see the guys again, being led to the subway...

But mostly, staying around Root, when you had no idea if you could trust yourself.

It's something that had you on the edge for days, but you never left. So when you have walked in this morning for the first time, you have been actually a little surprised about the sense of normalcy that has greeted you, as if you have never left this place, not even for a minute. The only thing that has changed since last time apparently is just that now the Machine has moved down here too.

Your thoughts drift immediately back to Root and about how ecstatic she must have been about this new arrangement.

The Machine was already in her head sure, but she also have had the chance of sharing space with a physical part of her God too. The light scoff that escapes from your lips is definitely one of amusement as you can't help but imagine the scene and picture the excitement on Root's grinning face as she and Harold assemble it back together.

Then you think about the rest of the team and what they must have been through, knowing that Samaritan must have put them in a pretty bad situation for them to decide to bring the Machine down here in the first place.

There aren't many different scenarios actually, but eventually your curiosity has the better on you so you finally decide to ask Reese what happened.

He doesn't go into details. What you have suspected turns out to be mostly the essential. Samaritan, gunfire, find the Machine, stuck its compressed version into a bulletproof briefcase, gunfire again, a bit of nerd hocus-pocus from both Finch and Root to resuscitate the Machine, and here you all are. Three levels underground. Strange place for a God to stay actually, and the irony of the thing isn't lost on you.

Reese updates you on the most crucial things that happened during those long days, he also may have mentioned that he may have saved Root's ass in the middle of all of that and also saved the Machine from melting itself into the subway car. The hero, coming to save everyone's day and shrug it off like he always does. He never sounds like he takes credit for any of those things though. "Just doing my job," he would simply say, or "Just looking out for a friend." And that's _so_ John.

Try to add those bits of informations in your mind is easier now, a week ago you were still struggling very hard between reality and simulations. Sometimes it still all feels very disorienting actually, like being half asleep, stuck in between the beginning of a dream and wakefulness, unable to fall completely asleep and unable to fully wake up either. But now, with every passing hour, the world looks more and more real to you, and those few remaining blurred edges of your vision are being slowly cleaned away.

By the time Reese finishes with the essential update you have finished to clean the gun, thoroughly, with all your tools and have also added a bit of lubricant on the slide rails before reassembling it all back together and polish it a little as a final touch.

"We would have done so many things with much more style if you were there with us, Shaw." He concludes after offering the last bite of his sandwich to a whining Bear who snatch it carefully from his hand and licks his fingers.

You didn't know it until he said it, but you realize that it is something you were somehow wanting to hear.

"I'm sure we'll have occasion to kick some ass soon anyway," You say with a smirk already tugging at your lips at the idea. "Here."

You hand the now shiny pistol back to him, satisfied with the work, and suddenly, a thought crosses your mind; a fragment of memory taken from one of the thousand of versions where you have killed your friend.

You can almost feel the walls of that dark alley closing around you as the smoke coming from the manholes mix in the air, making it thick and humid, and the combination of the two things is almost enough to make you choke.

Force yourself out of that sensation at the first assaulting wave is not easy, but you remember to yourself that it was just the flash of a memory, one created by Samaritan's poison, because you know that you could never hurt John.

You have been through so much together, he has watched your back and you have watched his just like partners do, damn he even let you use his guns _and_ let you borrow his precious grenade launcher. Not to mention that he may have saved your ass a couple of times too, although you would deny such thing till death, but beside all of this, beside all the things that he has done for you and with you, the thing that brings you back from the sensation caused by that shred of flash of memory, is that you know, that he has been watching Root's back and also saved her life too when you weren't there to do it yourself.

You snap back into reality, blinking to adjust your distant vision just in time to see him offer you one of those half smile of his and hear him say "It's good to have you back, Shaw."

John is very observant. He has definitely noticed the distant look you had for those couple of seconds, and you know that with that simple welcome home sentence he meant it twice.

If you were that kind of person, you think, a normal person that feels things normally, you would have probably hugged him right now. But you're not.

So you just nod once instead before gathering the few tools on the bench and starting to walk towards the locker but stopping just outside the subway car. You don't turn around to face him but you know that even if your voice is low and slightly husky, almost resembling his own, he can perfectly hear you when you say a simple "Thanks, John."

It's general, but you have a feeling that he knows you mean it for one thing in paricular above all; the only one that has somehow kept you alive for all that time while Samaritan broke you into pieces, because once again, you can sense that same smile on you.

"You better go back to the precint," You advise drifting the conversation to a much more known and safer territory, "or Lionel will bury you under a mountain of paperwork if you're late." John sighs and mumbles something under his breath at this as he turns to leave, and you think that maybe being stuck in the subway without a cover for the moment may not be so bad after all.

 **. . .**

You spend the afternoon cleaning up every single weapon held in the subway stash, included a pretty awsome sniper rifle that almost makes you droll all over yourself.

You also end up knocking down the gun lubricant, spilling its content all over the floor and making a mess that gives you no choice but clean it up in between curses on your hands and knees.

You can easily imagine all the kind of comments and innuendos that would have earned such scene if seen by a certain tall brunette hacker. Instead all you get is what you were hoping to avoid the most...

Finch walks in with his characteristic limping steps echoing on the platform.

"Miss Shaw," He greets you cheerfully. "What a pleasure to-"

You turn around just in time to see the look of a perfect mix of both panic and horror quickly covering his face as he takes in the sight of dirty rags and oil cans and weapons all over his precious computers station and notice the pool of grease staining the floor.

"Oh dear."

You almost laugh at that impossibly wide eyed expression.

"Hey Finch," You to greet him instead very casually as you continue to clean up, occasionaly glancing back at him to watch him open and close his mouth over and over, struggling for something to say.

For how curious you are to see if he will combust on the spot, eventually you decide to reassure him.

"It's okay Harold, don't worry, I'm not planning an attack or anything," You assure him through a sigh although you know he is definitely more concerned about the state of his desks filled with many potentially dangerous things for his computers - even if you have made sure to keep a fair distance between everything - rather than the presence of all the weapons in the first place.

"I was just spending time. I was getting bored," You conclude shrugging your shoulders as you pull youself up from the now clean floor.

He visibly relaxes a little at hearing this and his expression softens ever so slightly too, though it doesn't stop him from approaching the desks to check every piece of his precious equipment and make sure that everything is in order.

"I can certainly imagine the boredom of having little to do down here." He says understandingly, helping you gather the bottles of gun oil while you start to put the remaining weapons back into the large bag where they belong.

"Yeah well that's a way to put it."

He seems to consider something for a few seconds.

"Still, I'm afraid this is not an appropriate place for such task, I'll have another table arranged here with a proper illumination so that you'll have all the space necessary for this kind of job, miss Shaw." He offers then smiling warmly at you. "It's the least I can do."

It's not like having a cover identity that will make you definitely more useful and not keep you stuck underground or force you to move around the city with only the shadow map, but you think it's kind of nice anyway. So you thank him, somehow awkwardly.

You lock the weapons away and then return at the desk where Finch is already typing away some hacker gibberish on a laptop.

"Any news?" You ask generally taking a seat of your own and barely containing a grin when a yawning Bear approaches you straight from his nap.

"Not for the moment," Finch answers slowly, taken by whatever he is doing. "And I think that's somehow to be considered as good news during these uncertain times."

You nod as you pet Bear, scratching behind his ears and sighing when he places his head on your thigh and whines, looking up at you with big sad brown eyes. You would kill someone to bring him out on a long walk. Sorry buddy.

"I was actually hoping to find Miss Groves," Finch continues after a moment and your ears perk up almost like Bear's do as soon as he mentions Root. "I could certainly use her expertise and assistance with something I'm working on."

"She is out running one of the Machine's errands," You inform him glancing briefly at the subway car and wondering what those two are up to. "She said she would be back later though." She better, you think threateningly, she is the one with the shadow map memorized in her head after all, meaning she is the one who can lead you back to the safehouse and around the city without being seen.

It's not an arrangement you are happy with, but if it keeps you all distant from Samaritan, then you'll stick with it.

Reluctantly.

For the moment.

"Oh I see," Finch nods absently, his hands faltering a little over the keyboard of his laptop for a moment. "I certainly hope that whatever she is doing she is being careful."

There is a significant note of what you recongize as worry in his voice and that combined with the frown that appears between his eyebrows gives a certain weight on what he says.

It makes you stop petting Bear for a moment, suddenly taken by his obvious concern.

You would have probably scoffed in amusement at hearing this a year or two ago, now however you can't help but wonder about the things that might have changed in the meantime for Harold, whom from locking Root up in a cage and then into a psychiatric facility, has arrived to worry about her at such level, even if he is aware that she is perfectly capable to handle herself.

About taking care of herself however, well, that not so much if you remember correctly, and you have a feeling that it's not something that has changed during your absence.

"You know Root is more than capable to handle her missions, Harold." You remind him, frowing when you hear your voice coming out so strangely... Reassuring. You wonder if it is to assure him or convince yourself. Definitely to assure him you decide with a convincing nod.

"Indeed," He answers through a sigh as he restart typing at his normal rhythm. "Although I'm afraid that she may have been acting significantly more recklessly in her assignments ever since-"

Even before he freezes and stops talking all of a sudden you had a feeling about where he was directed with his comment.

But it is his choice of words that stirs something in you.

You turn slowly on your chair to face Finch, who is obviously trying to avoid any eye contact with you, swallowing hard and focusing harder on the work in front of him, giving no sign of continuing.

"Finch?"

"Yes miss Shaw?"

"Exactly what do you mean when yous say _acting significantly more recklessly_?"

It is actually another one the question that you want to ask; the continuation of what he was going to say and that you suspect you already know, but hear the actual confirmation would probably bring up the anger that is bubbling up your chest and burning its way up your throat, and that you are desperately trying to keep contained.

You have seen it for yourself, how much Root had - has - a tendency to dive headfirst into danger. And the fact that bullets seem to have some sort of a magnetic pull to her only makes the situations she put herself in increasingly more dangerous and lethal.

You wonder if she has always been like this or if the Machine has a part in bringing this imprudence further up in her. The latter rings more likely to you even if you don't know how Root was before meeting her.

It's not like she has a death wish or anything, it's more like she considers herself as an instrument to be used, to be torn, shattered, with the only purpose to serve her God. The only thing is, that you highly doubt the Machine sees Root as an instrument, an expendable asset.

No, the Machine would never put her beloved interface into so much risk if it can help it. It's probably Root who, most of the times, offers to do the reckless craziness on her own even if aware of the risks.

And sometimes, you think that you are... _glad_... that when no one is there to, the Machine is taking care of Root as much as it can in its own way and with its rather restricted limits.

It's Finch sigh and the sound of his chair squeaking that eventually pulls you out from those thoughts as he turns to face you.

"We have all been hit hard by what happened to you after your noble gesture at the Stock Exchange Sameen," He confesses at last and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes, hoping that this conversation won't turn into something uncomfortably emotional, and luckily it doesn't. Not so much at least. "But miss Grov- Root," He corrects himself thinking of the name more fitting right now as he continues "Has taken the hardest hit of all of us." He leaves out the _"obviously"_ but it's still written all over his face anyway.

He tells you about the first lead that they have followed in an attempt to get you back right after the shooting in the basement of the Stock Exchange, about Control's kidnapping, the car trip that have brought Root and John into a small town under Samaritan's control, sure to find you there.

You could try to twist his arm and ask him about all the crazy stuff that Root has done in the meantime, just so that you can kick her ass harder when you'll see her later, but you don't.

In his fast rambling he may have briefly mentioned something about the perky psycho taking a walk across the edge of the top of a building in a desperate attempt to obtain the Machine's collaboration in finding you, but you are not sure you have heard that part right. You... _hope_... for Root's soon to be bruised ass sake that you did not hear that part right.

"I'm afraid that if you want to know the details you'll have to ask for them youself miss Shaw." He answers respectfully, unwilling to continue, and despite the anger you actually appreciate his genuine way to "protect" Root from that growing fury that those informations would certainly unleash in you, but it doesn't stop you from growling at him through a clenched jaw.

"You should have stopped her from looking for me."

He tilts his head down, looking somehow guilty as he shakes his head before meeting your gaze again and jutting his chin out.

"She wouldn't listen. Not to me, not even to the Machine, until it begged her to stop, and even then I'm not even sure she actually did it since she disappeared for some time." He pauses and you feel _something_ making its way up into your chest as he concludes. "She never gave up on you, Sameen."

There is no way around it.

And no way you can ignore it.

You will have to talk to her. It's not something you are looking forward to because, well, you are not the kind of person that knows how to use words, but you'll do it anyway, or at least try to. Even if the first part will end up with her saying "Oh Sameen, don't tell me you worry for me" with one of those infuriating smirks adorning her face when you are being deadly serious.

You can already picture it.

And it only fuels the anger inside you of wanting to punch her for being so fucking imprudent and stupid when she is anything but.

Because you didn't shove her into an elevator with the others all those months ago so that she could tear the world apart and almost get herself killed to find your injured, tortured ass.

Things weren't suppoused to go that way. Not that you are not glad to be alive.

On the other hand however, it makes you want to push her against a wall and pull her down to kiss her and maybe, just maybe, also see those rosy lips fall open in a long, silent scream too.

Because that's how your body reacts whenever you are near Root.

Because those are the two sides that she has been able to bring up in you ever since your second encounter - which she still dares to call a date by the way -

You know that eventually she will inevitably bring up whatever she calls this unspoken... thing... between you two, but sure as hell first of all you'll make sure to have the serious _stop being a suicidal psycho_ speech, because she has to know that she isn't allowed to get injured or kidnapped or offer herself up to the enemy, and definitely not now that you are around again anyway.

Because, after all, you do all the protecting.

* * *

 **Mostly John and Finch in this one but I wanted at least a scene with a conversation between them and Shaw before returning to Root :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone!

Here's the new chapter. It's mostly humor :) Just some lightness before the more serious talk.

Enjoy

* * *

You took a bullet for her today.

A number came up in the evening and you insisted to come along with Root and John to help.

To say that they have stopped from what they were doing to look at you as if you have gone completely mad would be a fucking huge understatement.

"No way." They both said in unison looking more serious than you have ever seen them and leaving no room for protests, making you feel like a little kid that has asked to the parents to skip school the next day.

You remember clearly how ended up last time you have insisted about something with Root. With a needle stuck in your neck and with her dragging your comatose ass all the way to the subway. And you had a feeling that if you tried with that tactic again, John would have happily helped her to handcuff you to the subway car.

So this time instead of demanding to go you have made a suggestion and swore to stay close and not run around on your own. At that point you would have promised _anything_ in exchange of some action.

You still have no idea how that worked but you are not going to question it either. You must have been pretty damn convincing.

Luckily it was night, and even more luckily you all ended up tailing the number into an abandoned warehouse with practically no cameras around and that even if they saw you, Samaritan wouldn't have been able to recognize you anyway because of the ski mask you put on.

It felt _so_ good to return to work, feel the adrenaline pump into your veins, making every inch of your body tingle and sing as every muscle tensed up in preparation.

You have missed it.

Just like you have missed a good old real gunfire against a dozen of criminals.

What you certainly haven't missed though, is the scorching sting that you felt when you got shot.

...right in the ass.

While John chased after the number to keep her safe, you and Root had already managed to take care of the remaining part of the drug dealers that you had found inside the warehouse, or at least that was what you thought, until you have noticed another one half hidden behind a pillar in a shadowed zone, peaking his head out and raising his gun to aim at Root's back.

You have reacted even faster that what you thought was humanly possible, and your first instinct has been pushing Root out of the way before shooting the guy on the knee.

The bad thing is that he shoot too as he fell, probably just a reaction, a spasm for the pain that made him pull the trigger just when you turned on your side. Yeah... you weren't in the best position to shoot in the first place.

So here you are now.

Lying face down on the safehouse couch, ass naked in the air, biting curses into a pillow as Root uses a pair of surgical clamps to retrieve the bullet from your right ass cheek.

Already knowing that you'll never hear the end of all the innuendos and obscene comments that she is going to come up with for something like the next century.

Just the thought is enough to feel the beginning of a massive headache pulsing from your temples.

"I know it hurts Sameen, but I need you to stop squirming."

"I'm not squirming." You growl through gritted teeth, gripping the cushions beneath you a little tighter and holding as still as you can. "And it doesn't hurt." You insist, although you are definitely squirming, because yeah, surprise, it hurts like a bitch actually.

"You know what they say sweetie, about when you do stuff back here," She continues dismissing completely your dangerous growls. "That if you tense up you'll only make it worst."

Oh for God's-

Ugh.

She is impossible.

"Well sorry Root if I can't relax when you have a pair of clamps deep into my ass."

You wince and screw your eyes shut as soon as the words leave you mouth, feeling as Root freezes in her movements behind you.

Bad.

 _Bad_ choice of words.

Like extremely bad.

Terrible.

You coudn't have come up with anything worse actually.

This is going to hunt you for a long time, you already know it.

Just like you know that if you would turn around right now to look at Root you would find the biggest, smuggest and dirtiest grin splitting her face.

"Well, now, I could use my fingers if you prefer sweetie." She offers and you are already cursing silently in your head in every language you know, and also in a few others that you might have just invented. Then you hear Root shift, feeling her leaning in before whispering close to your ear in a slightly deeper tone "After all, it wouldn't be the firs-"

And that's too much.

Although you kind of deserved it.

Because you _really_ should know better than say the first thing that comes in your mind when Root is around ready to find an innuendo, _especially_ in these conditions.

"Stop!" You order immediately, interrupting her and turning as much as you can without hurting yourself further to shoot her the most murderous glare you can manage.

She looks a little surprised by the half shout but definitely not affected by the look that you are sure would have intimidated anyone. In fact you can perfectly see the beginning of a smirk quickly taking over her face as you continue threateningly "You better not finish that sentence Root or I swear..."

You recognize the gleam in her suddenly very, very dark eyes, the look of anticipation on her face and the devious hopefulness in her mischievous, widening smirk. "Or what, sweetie?"

Damn her.

Damn her and the effect that that look and that voice has on you.

Your mouth goes suddenly dry making you hesitate for a second longer before you finally recover enough to swallow and find your voice again.

"Just... Pull the damn bullet out already!" You snap at her although it doesn't sound half as harsh as you thought it would, and Root of course looks completely unaffected by your tone.

"You are such a turn on when you are being all demanding like this." She hums contently, and before you can retort in any way, a sharp cry, a strange combination between a howl and a groan, is ripped from your throat as the feeling of the clamps plunging deeper into your flesh shoots a flare of hot pain all the way up your spine and right into your skull, forcing you to bite hard on the pillow to suffocate the foreign sound.

It lasts just for a second though, because right after that you feel Root pull back.

"Here you are," She says through what you can picture as a big gleeful smile as she extracts the clamps completely, recognizing immediately the metallic sound that you hear as she drops the bullet on a plate. "A 9mm. All intact."

Well, that's a relief.

"Let me see." You ask as soon as you recover, stretching your arm back towards her.

"Hm," A note of susprise seeps into your voice as you examine it. "It felt more like a .38."

"That big, uh?"

You roll your eyes at what must be at least Root's third innuendo in just the last ten minutes as you hand the bullet back to her.

"Can I keep it?"

At this you turn back, slowly, to look at her as if you must have heard that wrong, only to find out that you didn't.

She is actually looking at the blood covered bullet with a big smile and sparkling eyes as if it's a raw diamond, so full of potential.

Creep.

"Why, what could you possibly want to do with that?"

But why even bother asking, because it's not like you should be surprised by Root's creepiness anymore.

"Oh, you know," She answers casually shrugging her shoulders before focusing back on your wound. "Just shoot it back in the remaining intact kneecap of the scum bag that shot you."

Aw, sweet vindictive Root.

You don't even try to resist the urge to scoff amused by her words, especially for the nonchalant way she said that.

"How dare he. Leave a scar on such a perfect piece of art." She mumbles indignantly as she examines the outlines of the wound with delicate fingers.

And now you are trying very hard not to burst out laughing at how offended she sounds.

To be honest you suspect that Root might be a little pleased actually by all of this, amused without doubt, angry of course although for the moment - thankfully - she is doing a great job of masking it. But you know that in part at least, she is also kind of relieved, because she knows that for a few days you won't be able to even sit, let alone go around and get into trouble.

"You are so dramatic." You decide to tell her at last through an eye roll and what she would dare to call a smile if she could see your face right now.

Thankfully she is too focused in gathering from the coffee table the necessary to clean your wound once again.

"I have to say," She starts after a few moments just as the pungent smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils. "That this is not how I had imagined seeing you naked for the first time after your return." You can practically hear the pout of disappointment in her voice, and it makes you grin, although it turns immediately into a tight wince in the moment she pours the iodine solution on the wound.

"And how did you imagine that, pervert?"

You can either focus on not feeling too much pain or try to speak but you have learned that you can't control that _and_ what leaves your mouth at the same time. And now it's too late to take that back.

She hums, clearly pleased that you have asked.

"It was more like me pushing you against a wall and ripping your underwear off with my teeth."

As soon as the words leave her lips so delicately and with the most seductive slightly deeper tone that you have ever heard filling her voice, your whole body tenses up and then it immediately melts, vibrating and humming in all the right places with a well known need, and in a way that only Root has ever been able to make you feel. Because, hell... The image that forms in your mind is definitely one worth of all of your attention... And probably of something more than just that.

And it is only in that moment of absolute silence that follows that you register the familiar buzzing in your ear.

Your eyes snap wide open.

Oh no.

"Uh... I guess that now is not a good time to come over and see how are you doing. Is it, Shaw?"

Too late.

John's amused voice fills the line of your ear piece just as the sound of someone spitting something out joins in.

"Oh for God's sake Reese!" You snap as behind you Root is trying her hardest to stiffle a laugh at Harold's choking sounds. "Finch, what the hell?!"

"She is fine John. Careful Harry. Don't worry, I'm taking care of her." Root answers to both before you can even recover from their intrusion.

"I apologize miss Groves, miss Shaw, I had no intention to interrupt you, I just wanted to know about Sameen's conditions." Finch rambles clearly embarrassed in between small coughs that follow Reese's suggestive "I bet you are, Root."

On second thought, despite what you have convinced yourself of a couple of days ago after spending lunch with John in the subway, you are now of the opinion that you might have to kill him after all.

But God... What wouldn't you do to see Finch' scandalized face right now. Still, you decide to make a point of correcting him. "You haven't interrupted anything, Finch." Which, of course is immediately followed by Root's expected "Yet."

You consider turn around to glare at her, but it's pointless. You just decide to change the subject instead.

"What about the number?"

After the shooting you and Root have fled from the scene - or maybe limped away from it is probably the better word - while Reese called Fusco and a few patrol cars for back up to bring the drug dealers in and take care of the number too.

"She is safe here at the precint." John answers reassuringly. "Fusco and I are taking care of it."

"Good. Now if you two don't mind..." You say unable to prevent a drop of annoyance to seep into your voice.

Thankfully they take the hint.

"Oh, of course. Please let me know if there is something I can do or if you need anything miss Shaw. Miss Groves." Finch offers somehow awkwardly sounding still very embarrassed yet sincere before disconnecting the line.

"Sit tight Shaw." And with that John too closes the call before you can snap something back at his obvious amusement and deliberate choice of words.

Ugh.

"Aw, aren't they sweet." Root says all smiley and sugary as she applies a final gauze and bandage on your wound. "Calling you to ask how your butt is doing Sam."

You scoff. "Yeah, whatever."

At least the conversation with the guys has provided you more than enough distraction as Root finished to disinfect and dress the wound.

"There you go sweetie. All done." She announces satisfied after a moment before smoothing out the angles of the bandage against your skin with much more attention than necessary.

You try to lift your hips up in order to get dressed but Root doesn't give any sign of pulling her hand away.

"Root?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I pull my underwear up now?"

She lets out an exaggerated sigh but eventually pulls her hand away with a pouting "If you must."

You remain face down on the couch as you reach for where your underwear are lowered around your thighs, pulling them up before dismounting from the couch in the most ridiculous way you could have come up with in order to not hurt yourself further.

Root's smiling face is the first thing you focus on when you finally stand.

"Thank you." You mumble, and even if it is sincere, you immediately divert your gaze when you see the smile on her face turning into a much wider grin.

"You're welcome sweetie."

When you look back at her, it is just in time to see an unexpected grimace flashing across her face just as she reaches to hold her left arm.

You are stepping in front of her before she can even blink. "What is it?"

It is only now, under the lights of the living room that you notice that the leather of her jacket has been slightly torn in a few parts near the shoulder.

"I think I might have fallen into something earlier at the warehouse," She says through a small frown.

She is definitely referring about when you have pushed her away, and you think that the place was a mess, with abandoned equipment everywhere and occasional shards of glass covering the floor. She might have landed into something indeed.

"Let me take a look at that." You gesture for her to take the jacket off.

"It's nothing, Shaw. In fact I have only noticed it now." She tries to dismiss it, but the hell if you'll let her.

"It's hurting you." You insist pointing out the obvious more sternly than necessary before thinking better of it and softening a bit your tone. "Just sit and take off your jacket, Root."

The use of a softer tone does the trick.

It even earns you a small smile as - after a brief hesitation - she obeys, finally taking off her jacket and sitting on the couch.

"I think you might have landed on the pieces of some broken window." You guess looking at where the sleeve of her shirt is partially ripped and stained with blood. "Take off your shirt."

At this, of course, she doesn't protest.

"Hmm, on second thought, I think I like where this is going, _Doctor_." She purrs contently as she undo one button at the time, never taking her eyes off you, not even when she pulls it down her shoulders to place it aside, leaving her just in her black lace bra.

Your eyes roam for just a second longer on the perfect creamy skin of her smooth stomach, lingering then on her cleavage, and the scrutiny isn't certainly lost on Root, who flashes you a huge satisfied grin that you dismiss immediately to focus on her injured arm.

Luckily, it's mostly a scrape. The leather jacket has certainly reduced the damage, but there are a couple of deeper gashes, and the whole area around is swollen and bruised, starting to turn from a deep angry red to a light shade of blue around the edges.

Even you wince a little by just looking at it.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" You scold her through a deep frown, but truth is that you are more pissed at yourself for not having noticed it as soon as it happened. Doesn't matter the gunshot wound and the rush of the moment.

"I didn't even feel it actually," She shrugs and you think about adrenaline, then she tilts her head to the side giving you that look that says "And even if I did, there were much bigger concerns at the moment, like bringing your cute little heroic ass away from there and to safety before the cops arrived, _sweetie._ "

The nearest sink is still too far away for your butt's liking right now, so you just pour some alcohol in your hands and rub to clean them meticulously before picking up some steril cotton and the iodine solution.

For once Root is quiet, more than happy to just watch you as you work, cleaning carefully the whole injured area - and a few more inches around it just to be sure - from dirt and blood before paying extra attention to the deeper gashes with a swab.

"The cuts are clean," You say mostly to yourself, and then glancing briefly at Root "I don't think you're going to need real stitches."

"I told you it was nothing serious, Shaw." She repeats, and then, lowering her voice a bit more "Not that I'll ever complain about all these devoted attentions."

"It still needed to be cleaned," You insist, deciding to ignore completely the last thing she said. "That warehouse was filthy."

You catch a glimpse of her pout as you turn to pick up a couple of butterfly stitches from the package on the coffee table.

You also pay extra attention as you apply them on the cuts in the most strategic points, telling yourself that you do it because they will stick longer that way, when in reality you are doing it so carefully and methodically because you know that like this, once they are healed, the cuts won't leave a scar on Root's impossibly delicate skin.

When you are satisfied with the work you cover it all with a steril gauze using the surgical tape to keep it firmly in place.

"You'll need to put some ice on it for the swelling." You suggest her half absently as you smooth out the angles of the tape against her skin until you realize that you are actually tracing something else there on her shoulder.

An old scar.

But not just an anonymous one.

It's your signature. The one you've left there a few years ago in yet another empty warehouse.

It seems so long ago. So distant. It disorients you for a moment, but the memory is fresh and vivid in your mind just like that something that stirs inside you as your fingers skim over that scarred graze, and that only amplifies when you feel the gentle touch of a hand being placed there above yours.

In it's semplicity it is more than enough to pull you out from a slowly growing spiral of mixed memories and sensations that was dragging you somewhere distant and deep and unexplored but not exactly unknown, and bring you back into the real running world where you just realize that Root is calling your name.

"Shaw?" When she whispers it softly again while gently stroking your hand with her thumb, it's the last thing you need to blink away those lingering traces of that distant life and meet her gaze, only to be flung somewhere much deeper and substantial as soon as those soft brown eyes find yours.

Relief is the first thing that you see flashing in them, followed by warmth and then... Something else.

You have seen it in there before, but you have never found a proper way to name it.

It's a look that makes you feel exposed, you decide, but strangely enough not uncomfortable. Because you kind of let her, and you can't look away. But you don't have to, because for probably the first time in the long history of lingering looks exchanged with Root, she is the one who diverts her gaze first, tilting her head down and letting her hand slide away from yours.

Even in the warmth of the air wrapped around you, it's a gesture that leaves you cold.

"You must be tired. And hungry." She says then through a soft smile but without looking at you as she reaches for her shirt to put it back on. "Why don't you lay down here and rest while I prepare something to eat?"

You don't like being caught unprepared, but you certainly are by this sudden change, and even a bit confused maybe by a few things, even if you don't let it show as, without even realizing it, you find yourself nodding, keeping your eyes on her even when she stands and walks around the corner and away from you.

For a few seconds you are very tempted to follow her, because when in any other moment you would have found the mere idea of food as tempting as always, and when you would have been relieved by the distraction she provided, tonight, with her resting so close and that something stirring more and more from somewhere deep inside you with every second you spent looking at the soft flicker of light reflected into those dark pools, all you wanted, was for Root to stay.

* * *

 **Like I said just some humor (and a scandalized Harold) before the talk :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Hi there!

I'm glad to know that you have enjoyed the little humor in the previous chapter. Here's the new one, as I had anticipated it is about the talk. I think I'll write just another couple of chapters after this, one more and then the epilogue.

But for now I'll leave you to this one :)

Enjoy

* * *

You spend the evening on the couch with an ice pack and a soft pillow tucked against your injured butt. The tv plays mutely on the background, and a bowl of what you are pretty sure is the best chicken macaroni casserole that you ever had in your life is securely balanced in your lap.

It's your second bowl actually, the first one only made your mouth water for more and Root has been more than pleased to see you wolf it down with so much gusto.

It's creamy and spicy in the most delicious way, and you appreciate the fact that there is more meat than pasta.

You'll never tell Root directly how fucking good it is though.

Once you have finished you pick up your icy beer from the coffee table and take one long refreshing swig just as you spot Root out of the corner of your eye, laptop carefully balanced in one hand and gaze fixed on the screen as she walks into the living room, bare feet and freshly changed into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts that leave exposed those impossibly long, alabaster legs of hers.

You take another swig from your beer - a much slower one - at the sight, suddenly experiencing an uncomfortable dryness in your throat.

Must be the paprika.

"...she is going to be fine," You hear Root say through a small chuckle, catching the sight of a grin that widens a little further when you glance up at her.

"Is it Harold again?" You ask half absently as you stretch your arm almost beyond its limit to grab the tv remote and flip through some sport channel out of boredom.

Root shakes her head in negative as she takes a seat on the middle of the couch, close to you but not too close, still humming softly at whatever she hears coming from the other end of the line as she settles the laptop on her thighs.

"...well, I mean, she is having a few difficulties sitting right now," She says after a moment of silence, shooting you a smirk just when you shift a little in your seat to readjust the pillow and the ice pack beneath you. "...but beside that she is just fine."

You look up at her again after your adjustment and recognize that particular wide smile on her face and the light tilt of her head.

Ugh.

Suddenly you understand with whom she was speaking to this whole time.

"Please tell me you are not talking to the Machine about my butt." You ask flatly through a long sigh already knowing the answer as you look blankly in front of you at the tv screen.

It kind of surprises you actually the fact that such identity hasn't been your first guess instead of Finch.

"Honestly?" Root asks and you can't help but turn to look at the conspiratorial little smile that shapes her lips and makes her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans towards you just a little. "It wouldn't be the first time, Sameen."

Of course it wouldn't.

You roll your eyes at her and take another sip of beer only to hide your amused smirk against the lip of the bottle because hell, if you start imagining the kind of _intimate_ conversations that Root must have with Her you also wonder which one is the biggest pervert between the two of them. The one who spies on everyone everywhere at every moment of the day or the psycho one who tells her Artificial Superintelligence God about certain sexually related things and such _God_ more likely asking questions back about it.

You snort a laugh at the idea and almost choke yourself to death with your beer in the process, much like you have heard Harold do earlier with his tea on the phone, only you kind of mask it with some sort of throat cleaning.

It doesn't work.

"Careful Shaw," Root warns you never diverting her gaze from her laptop screen as she types away while you quietly try to suppress cough after cough. "For how much I would love to go all mouth-to-mouth on you, this is not how I want it to happen."

You have at least a dozen of replies ready to that, and actually not even half of those are pretended angry snaps, but you just turn to glance at her. She looks still so absorbed by whatever she is doing that you wonder in the first place how can she code hacker stuff at that speed while coming up with some allusive pun, then you remember about that fucking brilliant perverse brain of hers.

"How is your arm?" You decide to ask at last thinking of it as the safest territory right now when your gaze settles on her injured shoulder, pleased to see that your patching job is still there perfectly intact under the sleeve of her shirt.

She stops typing only to turn and give you one of those wide creepy-sweet smiles of hers that makes your teeth ache. "You are _so_ adorable when you get all worried about me over a scratch, Sam."

"Root." You warn her through a small growl and she only smiles wider at you.

"I'm fine Shaw, it's just a bit itchy for the tape."

You wait until she reasume typing before lifting your hips to remove the still freezing ice pack from the side of your butt - the recomended twenty minutes are over anyway.

"I shouldn't have shoved you away so hard." You sort of apologize as you lean in to fold the ice pack between Root's shoulder and the couch so that it can stay in place without her having to hold it up.

She flinches a little, hands stopping in mid air over the keyboard, taken aback by the sudden touch and icy sensation but she relaxes and smiles softly to herself at your words.

It looks so... innocent.

Seeing it on her it's kind of suspicious.

And in fact it remains like that just for a second longer before turning into a more teasing and seductive smirk when she hums "But I like it _so_ much when you get a little rough on me."

"Root..." Again, the little warning in your tone does nothing against her constant flow of innuendos.

"I was just disappointed that you didn't jump on top of me right after." She continues with a pout, then pauses and her expression changes entirely. "You know, like you did that night in the park..."

"I thought you were a Samaritan's agent." You reply immediately as if in need to justify why you have attacked her. "And don't try to change the subject, Root."

Truth is that you don't want to go back there right now and relive the events of that night. The warm weird fluttery feeling that seems to start suddenly from nowhere deep inside you is not something that you are willing to acknowledge and least of all handle in this moment, so it is easy for your mind to return to what happened earlier at the warehouse when you see Root tentatively taking the ice pack to hold it right above the injured area.

She refuses to meet your gaze, tilting her head down and pretending to look at her laptop as she assumes that kind of scolded-child expression and posture that you have seen on her maybe once before after she had a disagreement with the Machine.

For once is good to witness it.

You are kind of pissed at her right now, although you know that you shouldn't; you have no reason to, because you can't certainly blame Root for not having noticed that other armed drug dealer hidden in the dark back at the warehouse or not having heard him when he was several feet behind her _and_ on her deaf side.

But still you are pissed. Pissed at that scumbag for causing all the mess in the first place, pissed at yourself for not having noticed his presence sooner and reacted even more quickly than you did, but also pissed at Root because you can't help but wonder about the inevitable that would have happened if you weren't there tonight. If you hadn't _insisted_ to come along.

She could have been hit, she could have been not so lucky this time and she could have died. And how dare she?

The anger gets fueled rapidly in your chest, even more when you think back about the conversation you had with John and then with Finch a few days ago in the subway, when they told you about some of the things that you have missed during your absence and more specifically about some questionable things that Root might have done in the meantime too.

Because seriously? The whole point of pushing her away and locking her into that elevator at the Stock Exchange all those months ago was to keep her safe and give them all a chance to make it out of there alive. Instead Root goes and puts her life in danger at every occasion, especially to try and find you without having the slightest idea of your location.

You can't help but think that in a way, saving Root, put her life in danger anyway.

Doesn't matter where a discussion starts, inevitably, in one way or another it always comes back to Samaritan, to the poison that it has spread and to its effect that still lingers in the air.

You trust yourself much more around the team now, you are getting used to the days changing and not repeating themselves over and over, but you also have noticed how you still tend to reach for the chip sometimes, more often when you are around Root.

It makes you scoot a little further away from her on the couch.

She notices it.

"Shaw?" She calls you as she places her laptop delicately on the coffee table before turning to face you completely.

You clench your jaw, trying to hold back that irrational anger that you are not sure if you'll be able to keep from surfacing.

"What the hell were you thinking, Root?" You ask with a dangerously low tone at last, looking up at her just in time to see her eyebrows twitch with a sudden frown of deep confusion and the taken aback look caused by your almost icy voice and the very harsh look on your face.

Good.

Now she knows you are really serious and that joking is not going to be a wise choice.

"Walking across a ledge? Surrender yourself to Samaritan?" You question her unable not to sound at least a bit incredulous as the words leave your lips, although you should be anything but knowing Root's limits, or better, her lack for limits and fondness for questionable reckless actions.

"Seriously? Then what?" You continue with a general shrug before guessing angrily "Let them torture you till they would have decided to open your skull and take your implant?"

This time despite the increase of volume in your voice Root doesn't flinch, on the opposite, she straightens her back and looks at you with nothing but infuriating calm.

"They have already tried that." She answers openly.

As if you really needed another excuse to want to reduce into dust every Samaritan's puppet.

"And if that would have gotten me closer to finding you then I would have let them do it. I wasn't going to leave you behind, Shaw. To leave you to them." She explains fiercely and you shake your head. Because you kind of expected some sort of answer like this one.

"What if you were too late? What if I was dead?"

"I knew you were alive." She declares slowly, almost calmly, with blinding conviction and with a piercing look and tone that leave no room for doubts. "I wasn't going to leave you to them." She repeats definitely, and you are starting to notice the glisten of tears welling up in her soft brown eyes despite her effort to swallow them down.

"I did what we both know you would have done, Shaw."

You want to argue with that, but you can't. You are not an hypocrite. And she is right. But you still don't want to make her think that all that she has done has been a good idea.

"You don't get to do that, Root." You say at last through gritted teeth, barely containing yourself.

"But you do?" She asks through a humorless breathed laugh now clearly on the verge of tears as she points out how unfair to her that sounds. "You get to play hero and throw yourself in front of bullets to save my life but I have to just watch from safety?" Now the anger is flaring in her too and you know that she isn't talking just about what happened tonight.

"Why, Shaw? Why you and not me?" She asks raising her voice as well now.

There is a part of you that seems to tickle in a way that no one else but Root has ever been able to trigger before. It's so close to anger that for someone like you that don't feel things like most people do, sometimes the line gets confused. Blurred.

Root can make you so angry.

Nobody can make you as angry as she does.

And you have ignored what that could possibly mean since the first time you have noticed it.

You look at her now, teary eyes and a look that is in between anger and exasperation, showing not even the slightest hint of regret or concern for the actions that almost got her killed... or worst.

There is a part of you that really wants to punch her right now, because maybe that would help to knock some sense into her.

But there is that other part of you, one which presence seems so foreign sometimes but that now is speaking up more loudly, more fiercely, sounding more demanding and stubborn than how Root is acting right now.

You can't ignore it.

And at the end, you give in.

You don't offer to her words because the weight of them, the heaviness of your answer, is sitting so tightly on your chest that combined with the anger boiling there is simply chocking you.

So you do the only thing that that other part of you is telling you to do.

You kiss her.

You lean in and pull her towards you for the rest of the way into an angry, harsh passionate kiss. Realizing exactly how much you wanted to do it only when you feel her lips pressed against yours and then parting after the first split second of confusion and stillness to kiss you back just as intensely.

You do it to shut her up.

To keep quiet the words you wanted to say but couldn't say.

But also because you simply wanted to. For so long. Too long.

She melts against you, whimpering softly in your mouth, her hands coming up to cup your jaw and just when you tug at her shirt to pull her down with you, she resists, bringing you closer before pulling _you_ completely on top of her as she lay on her back on the couch.

If feels undeniably good.

You settle on top of her and she feels incredibly good.

Soft just like her lips against yours and warm like the faint whisper of her breath against your cheek.

There is no space between you and still you want to feel her closer, so when you feel her tongue asks for permission you part your lips eagerly deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue against hers, more like in an embrace than in the usual battle for dominance.

Because this is not lust guided.

...It just _is_.

And as you kiss her you think about wanting to protect her, about being willing to pull the trigger seven thousand times on yourself to keep her safe in a simulation, about almost doing it for real a week ago. And then you think about Root pointing the gun to her own head as well and about her words as she did so, about the tears in her eyes and the quiver in her voice.

She wanted to find you more than anything, even if it was the last thing she did.

She wanted you home and safe.

And now you are. In a way, only because of her.

Because you know what would have happened if it wasn't for that short, coded message.

Slowly, you break the kiss, slightly out of breath.

You don't look at her when you pull back, you don't think you could handle that much right now, deciding to rest your head on the crook of her neck instead, breathing in her scent and letting her hold you close to her, letting her stroke your hair and wrapping her other arm around you to keep you there, afraid that you could stand and run away at any moment.

You couldn't even if you wanted to. And you definitely don't want to.

The angry storm has been placated by that simple gesture. The pression inside your chest and the weight of the words there doesn't longer persist so much anymore, so after a moment longer of comfortable silence of contemplation, you finally let the answer of her previous question leave your lips in a hushed whisper against the crook of her neck.

"Because you are too important."

To everyone.

To _me_.

You can feel the way Root's chest jumps a little as she takes in a shaky, wet breath at your words. "Oh, Sameen..." And from the way her voice breaks when she says your name, you are now sure that she is crying, softly, quietly, as if she's afraid to scare you away.

She could never.

So you rest your head on her chest as a silent consent for her to continue, a quiet "I'm here" and that's more than enough for her. You stay there and listen to her strong beats of her heart living with emotions and filled with sentiment. For you.

"You are wrong Sameen. You are so much more important..." She says at last after a few moments of silence, so softly that you almost don't even hear it, yet you hear the space that she leaves after, the one that says _"That's why I did what I did."_

Even if you'll never admit it to her or even to yourself, this aspect of Root, this part of her that is willing to tear the world apart for you, scares you, because you know that in the struggle she would most likely hurt herself over and over just like it has already happened.

And you don't know how to answer to that part, so you simply express your main _concern_ "I want you to take care of yourself, Root." Not knowing if you are ordering it or asking it, but the way your voice softens and the general lightness of your whisper tells you that it might be the latter.

Somehow, it feels like you are asking her the impossible, and the silence that follows only confirms you what at first was just an impression.

You remain like that for a long time, unconcerned by anything else, untouched by anything else that isn't Root. It's definitely something that would have made you feel uncomfortable beyond belief once, now however, in this moment, it feels right, and real, and true.

You needed it.

And so did Root.

Your eyelids become heavy pretty quickly with the exhaustion that the evening brought and with her hand running soothingly up and down your spine, and you don't fight it.

The last thing that you register before sleep claims you is Root tightening her hold around you, the feeling of her hand stroking your cheek and the one of her lips pressing the softest kiss on your temple before whispering "Now that you are here, I'll try. I won't leave you again."

 **. . .**

The next morning you wake up there on the couch, alone, a soft blanket wrapped around you and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes filling the cool air.

Picking yourself up from there is not an easy feat thanks to the wound on your ass, you are sore and stiff, tempted to just lay down for a little longer, but the noise coming from the kitchen and the surfacing traces of the conversation that you had with Root the previous night make you stand up with a purpose.

You go open one of the closets of the safehouse, where you used to keep stashed some of the equipment, and search for something in particular, pleased to find it at the first shot.

"Morning sweetie," Root greets you all smiley and cheerful, looking at you a little more sweetly than usual from one of the stools where she is sitting sipping coffee as soon as you step into the small kitchen.

From now on, if you are not around to take the bullets for her, the kevlar vest will do. And you'll make sure that she will wear it every fucking time.

"You are going to wear this even to bed from now on." You tell her as in greetings, thrusting the vest into her chest but not even half as hard as you would have done before.

She holds it up, looking a little puzzled before a wide grin spreads across her face when she realize what it is.

"Aw, you and your kinks sweetie," She quips tilting her head at you. "As long as you bring some zip ties too I won't protest."

This time, for probably the first time in a very _very_ long while, after a brief amused scoff, you allow yourself to breathe out a honest laugh as you shake your head at her, and not only because of the awkward wink she just threw at you.

Keep pretending annoyance at her puns after what happened last night doesn't have a point anymore.

And the sincere, full smile that she gives you back as that sound leaves your lips is definitely worth it, and something that you find yourself wanting to put there on her all-knowing flirtatious face more often.

You still don't exactly understand whatever _this_ is - you and Root - but you have accepted it, and now you are slowly embracing it, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi everyone!

Sorry to keep you waiting, I've been a little busy, but now I'm here with a new chapter ready for you :)

Enjoy

* * *

You find yourself hidden in the subway, again.

Although, getting back here has been your idea this time. Not that you had much of a choice since the subway and the safehouse are the only places for you to stay right now, but you needed to change air after spending two days locked in the apartment.

Down here is not so different, really, especially since there is no one around...

Finch has decided to take Bear for a walk apparently, which got you very grumpy when you descovered it - even more than usual - because you had brought him a treat and you also had in mind to play with him for something like the entire afternoon.

John and Fusco are at the precint playing detectives.

And Root... Well, after leading you to the subway, making sure to avoid all the cameras and paying extra attention that no one was following, has stayed for a few minutes to do computer's stuff before heading out with her usual sugary "see you in a bit, sweetie" and something secret already planned but that didn't involve explosions or even kneecapping someone. To make it short, something boring. She has assured you that it involved just some persuasion and hacking skills.

 _...She better not have even a scratch on her when she'll return later_ , you think threateningly.

As your mind drifts towards Root, you can't help but think that she has been a bit quiet today, which, given how much of a costant flirt she tends to be, makes it a bit suspicious, but not entirely concerning since there have been a few puns here and there.

Even her usually shameless looks of appreciation have turned into something else, something much less obvious and more... affectionate. Tender. But always keeping that singular spark of mischief that is purely Root.

You find yourself pursing your lips in mild concentration, wondering if maybe Root's recent behaviour has anything to do with what has happened at the safehouse a few nights ago.

Because even you have registered a change, a shift in the air when everything that has been buried deep down where no one can see, has emerged along with a lot of... emotional stuff.

Stuff that you have no idea what could possibly mean and something that you prefer not to aknowledge right now, but that for how much you have tried not to think about it - especially not to think about that foreing fluttering warm feeling that persisted in your chest after you have kissed her and that kept echoing for the whole time you have let her hold you on top of her after - has always been there on the back of your mind for the last couple of days.

You shake your head, an attempt that succeed in clearing your mind a little from those thoughts as you return to the present, but that does nothing for that weird sensation that you keep feeling in your stomach.

For now, you'll pretend it's just hunger.

With everyone out, left all alone in the pleasantly cool air underground, you have decided to do some pull ups on the metal bars used as handholds in the subway car, because honestly, you have no memory of last time you have done any kind of workout, and since your butt is definitely in no conditions to do squats or lunges, some abs, push ups and pull ups will have to do for now. Better than nothing, that's for sure. But you enjoy the burning of exertion no less.

You wipe off the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, ready to reasume with the last set you have left when you notice something on one of the many monitors hung above the desk.

The middle screen, the larger one, goes suddenly black.

You are about to wonder what the hell is going on when just as suddenly, letters start to appear.

 _"Other 48 seconds necessary for proper muscle recovery."_

Your eyebrows knit in confusion for a split second and then you scoff in realization.

Of course.

Because just when you thought that you were there all alone, you are proven wrong.

The screen goes black again, and a moment later _"You should change your medication, Sameen."_

You almost laugh at this last one.

"Didn't know you cared so much about my butt." You quip, - strangely enough - sincerely amused instead that annoyed. "Or about the proper rest time for my muscles between sets."

"Rest time is considered very important in a proper workout." The answer comes promptly as if it- _she_ already knew what you were going to say, but you couldn't have ever imagined what the Machine was going to add next.

You probably should have expected it though.

 _"Analog interface cares very much about your gluteus maximus. She often makes comments about it."_

Suddenly, you find yourself having a hard time trying to hold back a laugh while at the same time grimacing, because, for a moment, you think you might even feel actually a bit sorry for the Machine having to listen to all of Root's comments and having to deal with her general creepiness.

You are _almost_ tempted to ask "which kind of comments?" but luckily, before you can consider it better, a new line appears on the screen.

 _"If you have difficulties with your medication I can call primary asset Reese or analog interface for assistance."_

 _Oh, hell-_

"No!" You practically shout as the awkward image of John treating your butt injury flashes in your mind.

Ugh. Just... Gross.

"I mean, no." You repeat then more calmly and much more nicely than what you had no idea you were capable to. "I'll take care of it in a while." You continue, before adding a "on my own" after a brief pause.

 _"As you wish."_

You stay silent for a few seconds after that, waiting to see if there is anything else it- _She_ needed to tell you, but nothing comes.

You shake your head turning to look up at the metal bar where you were doing your exercise, ready to reasume with that last set left, when you start to consider something, turning halfway once again to the monitors with a brooding look that you know shows a shade of uncomfortable indecisiveness on your usually very resolved expressions.

Since _She_ has showed interest in your conditions, you think you should probably return the favor...

Maybe.

After all, it is a good way to start a conversation, right? To be nice with both people and Articifial Superintelligences? You guess...

You're not sure.

It may be just curiosity, since it is the first time the Machine has "talked" to you directly.

Whatever.

You decide to go for it.

"I heard you had some... difficulties, after Root and Harold have put you back together." You say sounding pretty casually, as if you are talking about the weather or something when you mention what Root told you about what happened to the Machine after the whole reassembling-thing.

The screen stays blank for a long time, so long that you start thinking that the Machine isn't going to answer or interested in your awkward attempt of a conversation, but just before you can turn and dismiss it all, new the letters start to appear to fill the screen.

 _"Yes,"_ It replies. _"Regaining awareness during those moments has been... disorienting."_

That last word appears all alone in the next screen, echoing with too much familiarity in your head.

You find yourself nodding almost without even realizing it.

"Yeah... I think I know what you mean." You agree knowingly at last, thinking back about the first few days after your escape, where you felt tricked by your own mind bouncing between reality and simulations.

With the inevitability of where the conversation is now obviosly headed, surprise is the last thing that you feel when the next line appears.

 _"I'm sorry for failing to save you at the Stock Exchange, Sameen."_

As the words fill the screen, a little slower than before, you can almost read the regret in them too.

 _"I searched for you everywhere, but my abilities weren't enough."_

"What happened at the Stock Exchange has been my decision." You explain before deciding to reply to the second part with the only thing that - for how much you pretend it doesn't - is still troubling your mind. "But you should have insisted harder in dissuading Root from looking for me."

You don't receive an answer to that, feeling as anger starts to surface at _Her_ reticence. Because you know that the Machine cares for Root, and you are also pretty sure that she was well aware of the dangers. So when after almost a minute you don't receive any kind of answer, you decide to ask it again, this time more directly and a bit more demanding.

"Why didn't you try harder to stop her from looking for me?"

The short "silence" that follows is a much lighter one, as if you somehow _know_ that _She_ is going to answer this time. But you could never have imagined what she was going to offer in response to such question...

 _"I wish for analog interface to be happy."_

Those words hit you so hard in their honesty and simplicity, that for a moment you almost forget to breathe.

 _"Ever since the Stock Exchange events and for all the duration of your absence her decisions have been questionable. Her violent actions and careless about her own safety have increased of 85.74% She hasn't been happy. I wanted her to be. And I was aware that the only way to achieve so, was to help her find you. I wanted to help her in every way I could, while keeping her safe."_

You already knew how stupidly reckless Root has been acting during these months, the Machine now telling you so after everyone else have already confirmed it is nothing new. And this is not the reason that has you struggling to find the words to reply, but the reason that had the Machine to help Root it is.

 _"I can't say what happiness feels like because I can't really experience it. But I can recognize it."_

It is right in this moment, after reading those words that you realize that maybe, you and the Machine have more in common than you thought.

You are not so different after all.

 _"Now that you have returned, analog interface is happy again."_

If the Machine, an Artificial Intelligence, an extremely sofisticated creation but that remains always a _program_ has been able to recognize happiness, you know that you must have had too.

But just like so many confusing things that you had no idea how to handle, you have refused to awknowledge it. Because there were much more important and relevant things to take care of than recongize and accept certain futile things... Right?

You are pulled out from those thoughts by the noise of what seems like an activated printer.

Looking down on the desk you see nothing but monitors and keypads, until your gaze shifts on the other larger desk on the left, and yes, it was a printer.

 _An ID card printer._

You approach the small machine just in time to see a card coming out from the lower compartment. You pick it up and what you see has you both confused and yeah, a bit hopeful too.

There is your picture on it.

Sameen Lawson. Age 36. Security Guard.

There is even an address.

You return in front of the desk, ID card still in your hands as you look up at the screen as if expecting something, like a comfirmation, and one that you don't have to wait to receive.

 _"I managed to provide you an identity and a residence. It's only temporary, but it will guarantee you a cover until further notice."_

You almost can't believe it.

You have a cover identity. And you are no longer forced into hiding.

Finally, you would be able to help the rest of the team and also go anywhere you want without having to watch over your shoulder all the time for Samaritan.

That little sweat that had formed on your skin has dried with the cool air and rest of your workout is completely forgotten if it wasn't already during your conversation with the Machine.

Now all you want to do, the first thing you can think of and the place where you want to go first is...

"Where is she?" You ask eagerly.

There is no need to specify _who_.

 _She_ already knows.

The monitor turns from black to show you the feedback of a surveillance camera in a park that you recognize very easily.

Root is there sitting on a bench on her own, looking to simply enjoy a rare moment of calm as people walk by.

You watch at the distinctive little black square with yellow corners framing her head as if it is a halo, like she is a sacred icon or something, and honestly, the thought isn't so ridiculous after all.

Root considers the Machine her god. You wonder if the Machine considers Root as her favorite asset, but you know that is much more than just that. The Machine watches over Root, protects her, confides in her just like a very intimate friend would do, you guess. Not that you ever had any of that before. But even you can recognize how much the Machine cares for her.

 _"Analog interface has completed her assignment."_ The Machine tells you in encouragement as if _She_ can sense some of your sudden hesitation.

But when you read the following _"Go to her"_ that appears on the monitor, you have already made your decision with a short convincing nod before gathering a few things from the near desk and tucking your new, shiny ID card in your jeans pocket, ready to head out, but not before looking back at the subway car and fixing your gaze right on the computer's camera.

"I... Thank you."

 **. . .**

It takes you a few extra minutes to reach the park. The wound in your butt makes it difficult for you to walk with your usually steady pace, but you arrive soon enough, and when you do, Root is still there where you have seen her just a little while ago on the camera, and it seems like she hasn't even moved from the same position on the bench.

There are kids playing and running around in the distance, people walking up and down the different paths, and what seems to be a photografic set for a just married couple ready by the lake.

Root seems to be looking right in that direction with a faint smile on her lips.

You approach her from the side of her good ear because - for how good it would be - you don't want to startle her, however you should have expected the mix of confusion and panicappearing on her face as soon as she would have seen you there, but hell, you kind of enjoy seeing her go all "what the hell are you doing here, Sameen?!" looking ready to do some of her usual crazy stuff in order to hide you before you can even open your mouth to offer her an explaination.

So tempting it was the idea of surprising her that you hadn't exactly considered what has been her understandable reaction.

"It's okay," You reassure her gesturing her to calm down. "Your _God_ has provided me a _pass_." You explain then a bit more quietly as you take a seat- well, an awkward half seat actually - right next to her on the small bench.

You watch as her eyebrows knit with still a hint of confusion before her entire expression softens and her shoulders relax as realization sinks in and she starts breathing again.

"I knew _She_ was up to something." She admits while shaking her head, a small smile already tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"How could you tell?" You ask sincerely curious.

"She has barely spoken to me today..." Root replies with that certain note of melancholy that you have already heard in her voice when she used to speak about the Machine's reticence.

"Well, _She_ and I had a little chat earlier." You inform her with a small smirk.

At this Root jerks her head at you, eyes wide and a big, barely contained smile forming on her face.

Ugh.

You suspected that this was how she was going to react at hearing about your little bonding between you and her God.

You almost expect her about what you two have talked about, but she doesn't, because of course, Root may not always respect your privacy, but she definitely respects the Machine's... Or whatever version of privacy _She_ has. Anyway, you are glad she doesn't ask, you just lean a little more on the bench, as much as you can without hurting yourself further, and take a look around the park as Root does the same.

It feels really good to stay out, you can't deny that. The air is pleasantly warm and the wind is a light welcoming cool whisper between the trees.

You stay there for a few minutes in a very comfortable silence and a sense of calm that you kind of enjoy in its simplicity before you find youself asking

"What are you doing here, Root?"

You turn your head to look at her just in time to see her shrug one shoulder. "Just thinking about how the world will be when we will finally get rid of Samaritan."

You scoff amused, looking around at the people walking by and wondering about their lives as you answer.

"Probably still very full of idiots trying to get themselves killed or hurt someone else."

Root hums at your words before chuckling softly. "Well, at least we won't be left without a job." She points out. "There will still be guns and explosions and kneecapping bad guys..." She says happily, almost dreamily, as if she is adding presents to a wish list.

"And CIA safehouses?" The words are out before you can even realize it. Pushed out by something that you couldn't quite control, and even if you could, you are not sure if you want to take them back now.

Root grins at your suggestion, so brightly that it almost makes you squint your eyes, as if it is a sunray the one hitting your face.

"Maybe," She replies at last, unable to resist the urge to tease you a little, but then her smirk turns into one of those genuine smiles, the much tender ones that she has started giving you a lot lately, and... Actually you don't find them annoying. "I wouldn't mind that..." Even when she concludes there is a certain softeness in her voice that isn't lost on you. Because you know that she has understood the meaning behind your suggestion, the one that goes behind the ten hours of fucking in some foreing place.

You are still trying to understand and have a full grasp on this whole unamed thing with Root, but you definitely aren't going to pull away from it. Not now that you are back and meaning to stay right where you are.

"What if..." You start, then pause for a few moments as you consider something. "What if for now we just go see my new place?" You offer at last as you think about the temporary address that the Machine has given you.

The grin on her face is the answer. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Good. But first I'm gonna go get us some steaks. You are going to eat some meat today." You tell her, leaving no room for protests as you both stand from the bench.

But Root doesn't protest, she just shows you another one of those incredibly mischievous grins of hers that combined with the tilt of her head tells you everything about the nature of what she is going to ask next.

"Can I have dessert too, _sweetie_?"

A slender hand groping your uninjured ass cheek accompanies the question and you have to keep yourself from jumping at the suggestive squeeze, but still you managed to answer her through a barely contained smirk.

"You are becoming quite predictable Root." You warn her. "But yeah, sure, why not."

"Hmm good, I promise I'll try harder in order to surprise you, Sam."

You scoff, but oh, you can't wait for that.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi everyone!

So, I forgot to remind you guys last time that this chapter was going to be the last one, but I had anticipated this on the AN at the beginning of the fourth chapter, so I hope you remembered it and are not too surprised by this information... My intention was in fact to write just a few light scenes before the ending, with a possible alternative/happy ending so... I'll leave you to this epilogue :) Oh, by the way I have decided to change the rating since things get a little bit explicit... I hope you don't mind :)

Enjoy

* * *

All it takes is just one slip for the world to go to shit.

And the first thing that you inevitably find yourself thinking about as you make your way to the safehouse watching over your shoulder at every corner to be sure that there are no more Samaritan's operatives following, and once arrived up the building to check the hallways with your gun secured tightly in your grasp for anything suspicious, is that you have brought this on the whole team with your return. That probably the cover that the Machine has provided to you just a couple of days ago have failed to keep your true identity invisible to Samaritan, and now you are all in danger.

Even when Root ressures you and tells you that it was Harold actually the one who has brought all of this upon you simply by slipping into something nostalgic and foolish, you still remain with your doubts.

It doesn't matter.

Now you are all in the fray whether you are ready to fight or not.

You are. Like always.

And apparently there is also a secret weapon already planned in this war that might give you a chance after all.

Because it would be nice to end this and make it out alive, you guess as your gaze shifts to Root right in the moment she intertwines her long delicate fingers with yours during one of those seconds of calm that gives you the illusion that evertyhing is good and quiet and that you are not probably all about to die at any moment.

And you think that the small, almost subtle, tender smile that she gives you when she tells you that she might have found the "place" where she really feels like she belongs to, might have something to do with making you feel so... optimistic.

Content even.

Alright... more than just content actually.

It makes you feel hopeful.

More than a week later her words are still echoing in your head, and for how brief it's been, that moment with Root is still pretty vivid in your mind, still clear in every detail. Especially considering that it was the las-

You are suddenly pulled out from those thoughts and brought into present once again when you almost trip over a tree root. How ironic.

It's not like you to be distracted. You are always alert, always aware of your surroundings, of every noise around, of all the people nearby.

Distraction feels uneasy on you. But that particular memory has once again managed to bring you down deep into it, making you forget about everything else.

You blink to clear your fuzzy mind from the last lingering traces left before taking the first look around, noticing the quiet desolation surrounding you, and only now realizing where your legs have decided to bring you.

The vastness of potter's field opens in front of you with its neat carpet of grass and the countless of numbered, featureless gravestones.

Your steps slow down until you decide to stop there, looking down and, after a moment of staring blankly, wondering who 080175 was.

Compassion and empathy are just words that you still consider without a real definition in your very very restricted emotions's dictionary. The only one you can understand and do good enough is anger, you guess, but the rest is all very blank. Or at least that was what you used to think before the presence of a certain someone has rended the edges a little blurred, showing hints of colors and shapes here and there.

Yet even if this kind of curiosity is not in your nature, you still find yourself looking down at this grave and wondering things like which was the name of this unlucky person. What have brought them here six feet underground and left unknown to the world, if maybe they had... someone who cared for them... and if maybe that someone was still looking for them.

By the the look of the headstone and the grass around the grave you can tell that it is a new one. No more than a week - ten days old you guess.

Just like the one next to it.

You direct your gaze on that next one, but before you can read past the 05, your attention is immediately caught by something else.

"Hey there stranger..."

Your ears perk up and your entire body stiffens for a fraction of second, but you know that if it wasn't for the unmistakable scent that the light whisper of cool wind managed to carry right to you a moment before that voice reached your ears, you would have probably been caught startled by a presence for the very first time in your life.

You turn to look at the tall, slender figure leaned elegantly against the same tree which root just a minute ago almost made you trip over; a soft smile on that face, clearly exhausted, but more than sincere in its contentment and relief.

"How did you manage to escape this time?" You ask as in reply to that greeting, biting the inside of your cheek to try to contain a smile that is threatening to show at all the possible scenarios that pop in your head.

A mocked look of shock and indignation is what you receive back before the real mischievous smirk hiding underneath makes its full appearance.

"Would it sound so strange if I said that _this_ _time_ I may have actually waited the necessary before being _officially_ released?"

 _Yes, yes it would,_ you think as you shake your head, scoffing, no longer able to contain the amusement at the pout that you receive back at your suspicious expression.

"I was just on my way to pick you up actually." You inform turning completely to face that person and take the very first accurate look as they come closer. The smirk there only widening further at your words.

"Aw, you're _so_ sweet, Shaw."

There was a time, not so long ago, where you would have probably rolled your eyes in pretended annoyance at hearing such things.

But not today.

Not anymore.

Especially not since the moment you notice how that expression turns almost immediately into a much more tender one; head tilted slightly to the side and eyes shining with something very very close to adoration.

Unable to hold back what you wanted to do for so long, you just act. Because that's what you do best.

With just a mumbled-somehow kind "shut up", you grab Root by the arm, and pull her gently towards you before sneaking your arms around her waist, mindful of her still healing injuries.

She is definitely a little taken aback by your gesture but her arms engulf you with a combination of enthusiasm and the same tenderness that you have noticed in her look not even a minute ago.

She melts in your arms in what is not exactly a hug but more like... a very close connection.

It's something that you wanted to do since you got news about her and her stabilized conditions.

You wanted to feel the warmth of her body, fell her calm breathing caress your skin and the steady pulse of life under your fingertips.

It's all there.

And now you feel like you can finally dare to breathe fully for the first time in over a week.

"I've missed you too, sweetie..." She confesses, as you - unconsciously - tighten a bit more your gentle hold around her, and even if she has barely whispers the words, you catch immediately the note of emotion that seeps into her voice and that makes it shake a little as she presses her face into your hair while her hands run slowly, soothingly up and down your arms to occasionally draw circles on your upper back.

You don't answer to that, but you also know that Root isn't waiting for a reply. So you just press your forehead against her collarbone and inhale her comforting scent while you feel her side, checking for sore spots and bandages through her leather jacket with tentative hands.

"How do you feel?" Is what you decide to ask her at last as you pull back from that not-exactly-a-hug to lift a little her shirt and take a glimpse of the neat bandage on her side taped just beneath her ribs.

It looks okay but you won't be satisfied until you'll check the wound yourself and make sure that is healing properly.

Root shrugs her shoulder a little but smiles fully at your examination and... protectiveness.

"I told the surgeon that I have a _very_ skilled doctor of my own that could take a close look at me." She says _almost_ innocently.

"And that's the reason why they released you earlier?"

She hums. "May be. Although I was hoping for a more romantic reunion than the cemetery, Shaw." She scolds you a bit for that as if she isn't the one who have showed up here after another one of her stalking operations.

"Harold and Fusco wanted to give their last goodbye to Elias." You explain as if to justify your presence here.

Root tilts her head down, every trace of amusement falling from her face in a second as a small "oh" of understanding leaves her lips before her gaze returns up tentatively to meet yours.

"What about John?"

"He..." You hesitate for a moment, clearing your throat softly before continuing.

"He took a deviation to visit Carter."

The small, sad smile that appears on Root's lips at this, is something that you consider the only and most appropriate answer to that information.

Root didn't know her like you did. But Carter was there from the beginning. She has been part of the team too, a great ally and friend. A true protector of the justs.

She didn't know what was coming then, none of you did or even suspected - except probably Root - what was lurking in the shadows. But you know that she would have been there to fight at your side and that she would have been very proud about the colossal threat you have defeated and about all you have accomplished over the years.

"And what brought you here all alone, sweetie?" Root's curious but tentative question pulls you out from those thoughts, and the weight of her hand resting softly on your back brings you back into present.

"I... I don't know." You answer sincerely through a frown as you turn to look down at the unamed graves that you were examining pensively before Root's arrival.

She takes the last step to stand just beside you, following your gaze down on the numbered gravestones. You both remain silent for a few moments with only the gentle hiss of the wind as background, but eventually it is Root the one who breaks the silence first, with just a few quiet words.

"It could have been us." She acknowledge, and it's right now, when Root voices that thought, that you realize why - unconsciously - your legs have brought you here.

You find yourself nodding half absently.

"I can't believe it's finally over." You say at last releasing a long silent breath through your nose. "And that we actually won."

When you look up again Root is already smiling.

"Yes, yes we did. Although I'm afraid that I might have missed all the fun." She adds with a faint pout of disappointment, but before you can answer to that, a movement on the corner of your eye makes you both turn.

"You certainly have missed a great explosion, Root. That's for sure."

Reese makes his appearance with a small smirk on his face and with his right arm tucked securely against his chest with a sling, because, of course, if there is anyone - beside you - who can come out from an explosion with just a few scratches an a broken arm, that's Reese.

"Yeah nutter butter," Fusco approaches from the other side and joins in to complete the team along with Finch. "You have even missed the inauguration's ride with me and the tiny one here on the subway car."

At hearing this, your entire body stiffens with a sudden flare of anger.

"Did you just call me tiny one?" You hiss through gritted teeth causing Fusco to swallow hard and take a step back at your dangerous tone.

But all it takes to calm you down immediately is the feeling of the gentle, soothing touch of Root's hand running up on your shoulder and the grin that you see on her face at that information, because you know, without a trace of doubts, that she was the one behind all that plan.

"I can assure you all that if it wasn't for miss Groves' extraordinary plan, we wouldn't be here today." Finch voices your thought offering Root one of those warm fatherly smile that has _proud_ written all over.

"Actually Finch," John interrupts. "I think we would be right here, just not above ground like we are now." He comments with just the right amount of dark humor.

"I'm afraid I can't take all the merit for that." Root argues with Harold because she is just too modest sometimes. "But I thought you would have been mad at me for coding that something extra into the Machine's system before you decided to close it, Harry."

"I couldn't be more glad you did, Root." He admits with nothing but honesty before adding "...and I couldn't be more relieved and happy to see you."

The emotion and happiness in his voice were expected, but what you are pretty sure none of you did expect, is the hug in which he pulls Root into and the tears that you can see shining through his thick glasses and that he is trying unsuccesfully to blink away.

Root remains speechless, but the authentic contentment for that gesture is visible all over her face when they part.

"Alright everyone," Luckily you can always count on Fusco to make the air lighter after something emotional like that. "What about we go somewhere else? Maybe for a first well deserved drink of celebration or something?"

"I could use one. Or four." You agree with Fusco, Reese doesn't protest either but at the look of excitement on Root's grinning face at the idea you don't wait a second longer to warn her. "You're having a ginger ale."

She pouts a little but by the way her eyes shine with mischief at your order you should have expected the "yes, doctor" that she purrs, leaning in only for you to hear as you all start walking, and you can't even prevent the shiver that crawls down your spine when her warm moist breath caresses your neck.

As you make your way out of the cemetery and towards the busy streets of the city, with the team all reunited at last, you can't help but wonder about the fate of the remaining and most important member, who has watched over you all and lead you to victory at the cost of its- _Her_ own life.

"So... Where is the Machine now?" You decide to ask at last. "Is _She_ still alive?"

Root exchanges a knowing look with Harold at your question, before offering you one of those enigmatic smiles of hers and then tilting her chin up to gaze at the clear blue sky above.

Two seconds is what it takes for you to realize what she means. "Well, that's certainly a qualitative leap from the subway. Finally a proper place for a god to stay."

Root chuckles softly at your comment. "I hope _She_ is finding the Satellite comfortable, but not too much. We'll bring _Her_ down as soon as we are sure that the last traces of the virus have be completely destroyed."

"So... we have a few days of peace?" You ask her somehow hesitantly - and kind of hopefully -

Root understands immediately what you mean and flashes you a bright grin. "More like a week or so... We want to be _very_ sure first."

You tilt your head down and bite your lips to contain a smirk. With this things, is better be sure indeed.

 **. . .**

It is a few hours later in the afternoon when you arrive at what you now consider your not-so-temporary apartment, and the first thing that you hear as soon as you step inside beside Root's both kind of impressed and amused "nice place, but I think it's more furnished than necessary for you, Sam" comment about the first general look around the vast, modern living room, is the unmistakable sound of Bear getting up from his bed and trotting towards the door.

You spot him just around the corner and as soon as he spots Root, he practically rushes towards her, much to her amusement. And yours too actually.

"Aww... well hi there cutie..." Root greets him, crouching down to receive his affectionate excited welcome and kisses and return the sentiment by petting him. "It's so good to see you too big boy."

"Did you just call him _cutie_?" You ask half horrified as if you have just heard that wrong.

But all you get in answer is a string of chuckles and laughers that escapes from Root's lips as Bear licks her cheek.

The scene reminds you immediately of the welcome party that he gave you when you first got to the subway at your return.

You can't help but notice how tentative and careful he his with her in his enthusiasm and show of affection though, as if even he, in his mostly instictive nature, has somehow realized that Root isn't fully at her best yet.

It wouldn't surprise you, and the addition of all the whiny noises that he does as he keeps licking her cheek and that seems to say "I'm glad you are okay, I've missed you" confirms your theory.

You also can't help but notice that the greetings that Bear is giving to Root is much warmer and welcoming than the one you gave her earlier when you first saw her after more than a week. A week that she has spent in a medically induced coma while the rest of you saved the world following her plan through the Machine's instructions.

"Alright Bear, that's enough boy." You say as soon as you come back from those thoughts, petting him on the head before he obediently dismiss you with one final lick to trot back to his bed, his tail still wagging a bit.

You close the door and when Root stands on her feet once again the first thing that you notice is the huge grin on her face.

"What?" She asks you teasingly, tilting her head to the side. "Were you becoming jealous, sweetie?"

You scoff at that while, without even realizing it, you reach a hand out to wipe her glistening cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, something that only succeeds in widening Root's already impossibly wide grin. But then you notice the gleam that appears in her eyes and the softness in the look that she gives you. And suddenly, in less than a heartbeat, you feel something shifts.

Your hand lingers there for a moment longer before you let it slide down until it rests on the front of her leather jacket. Root's grin turns slowly into a soft smile and then into a look of anticipation as she reads your expression and match it.

You both know what is about to happen.

But you remain still, even if for just a little longer, savoring that moment of anticipation where you can sense the desire coming off her and mixing with yours when her gaze fixes on your lips before returning to your eyes. Her breath a bit more shallow and her eyes a lot more darker, but always so impossibly bright.

You are so close.

She could do it.

She certainly doesn't have to ask for it.

Yet she still leaves you the choice. Waiting for your decision. Which comes not even a second later as if you had any other choice when the softness and pression of her lips against your own is practically all you can think about.

So you tug at the collar of her jacket to pull her down because she is so fucking tall and you refuse to go on your tiptoes to kiss her, but she is more than willing to answer to your surprisingly gentle request.

The first touch is soft, and so light, like a whisper, barely a brush of lips and mingle of warm moist breath that fuels your desire, but this time, _you_ are the one who waits for her to close the remaining distance.

And this time, she doesn't hesitate.

Your lips lock in a kiss that is so different from the ones you have always exchanged before.

Surprisingly gentle. But it feels... Incredibly nice.

You have never been much into kissing. Bites, hell yeah, but kissing is not something you have ever enjoyed, or even felt the necessity to do.

It felt too... intimate, in some way. When all you needed has never been more than just skin deep.

But with Root...

You no longer try to fight the fact that she has changed a lot of things for you.

And all the incredible things that those impossibly soft lips and that very talented tongue can do, make even something as simple as kissing something extraordinary and unique.

And when you feel her running the tip of her tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen it, you part them more than eagerly to allow her access.

It's hot and soft and delicate, but the playful duel that you start doesn't take long to turn into something more intense and demanding that makes it impossible to keep your hands still when all you want is feel her. Everywhere.

Her moans vibrates in your mouth, feeling the shiver that crawls all the way up her spine running through you too when you pull her closer to you by the hip so that there is not an even inch left between your bodies.

But just when you move to introduce your hand under her shirt, craving for that warmth and contact, Root breaks the kiss, reluctantly, breathless, with a litte tentative smirk tugging at the corner of her now glistening, slightly puffy lips.

"I... I don't know if I can keep up with our usual pace, sweetie. " She confesses in some sort of apology that combined with the look of both undeniable desire and hesitation only makes it more appealing to you.

The "usual pace" she is talking about, refers more specifically to something like a tornado; a force so intense that destroys everything around you and also yourselves too in the process, but in the most delightful way.

Because you and Root are like an electrical storm.

Sharp and striking.

All raw electricity and power that nothing will ever contain but themselves.

That's the link you have.

So you look up at her, remembering her words about the only place where she belongs and then at your own unspoken words about her being the only place where you feel safe, and with a reassurance that you didn't know you were capable to transmit, you say "don't worry," pausing for a brief moment, and after having swallowed down the knot of nervousness that you realize is actually your heart that sensation stuck in your throat, you finally tell her

"let me take care of you."

You watch as her lips part to take in a silent sip of air just as her eyes widen and shine a bit more because of the effect of your words.

That look is all the consent you need.

You bring her in your room in between kisses that becomes more intense and demanding as Root's hands find their way under your shirt, seeking for more contact, more warmth, more _you_.

You lay her as gently as you can on the bed, with even more caution than necessary actually, something that earns you a little bit of teasing.

"I'm not made of glass, Shaw. You can still rough me up a little." She assures you as she pulls you partially on top on her. You silence her with another deep kiss, removing her clothes a layer at the time, and then your own until all that remains is the skin on skin contact that you realize craved much more than what you though as soon as her warmth and delicate softness meet yours against your more solid and hard body.

Your hand tease its way down her writhing body, hungrily but somehow gently, finding her warm and wet and ready for you, she parts her legs to make space for your touch, to urge you lower; an invitation that you can't resist.

You watch with delight the way her body arches into your touch and the way her eyes roll into the back of her head in the moment you slip inside of her, welcomed by that compelling, clinging, silky heat that flutters with need around you.

She holds onto you, digging her nails into your shoulders and back, sinking her teeth in your bottom lip and neck to muffle all the amazing sounds that escapes from her throat, lifting her hips to meet your thrusts until she is covered in sweat and the traces of your wet kisses and sucking marks.

She comes hard and long, twice, with your name falling breathlessly from her lips both times. Her body shaking with release and twitching with the assaulting waves of aftershock.

It's a sight that makes you almost desperate, like the throb that has increased between your own legs. And luckily, you don't have to wait for long.

Before you can realize it, Root has reversed your position and is on top of you, all excitement and promises in the lust filled look that she flashes you.

She uses her mouth on you for three times, because you can never have enough of the wonders of that mouth, but at the fourth time you pull her up because you want to touch her again, and so hold it back until she is there on the edge with you.

You come together.

It's tender, and it's the first time for you to experience it like this. Especially with Root. But you have discovered, pretty fast and very easily too, that you can do gentle and caring with Root.

And it feels right.

Just like its suppoused to be.

You will have all the occasions you want to play a little more rough, but this, now, what you are sharing... It couldn't be more perfect.

When you kiss her, your pleasure is still lingering on her lips and mingling with hers in that unique flavour that's purely yours. Sweet and salty in equal measures. Rich. Delicious.

That last peak is the highest and more intense one you have ever reached, but you also think that everytime you and Root have ended up in bed, or against a wall, or in some car together.

After a few more moments of much needed recover, you help her down from on top of you into a more comfortable and safe position on her uninjured side.

You watch her eyes flutter shut, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she falls asleep, but just for a few minutes, precious minutes that you use to examine the healing wound on her side, right beneath the ribs by carefully peeling off the corner of the tape of the bandage to take a peak under the dressing.

Even if you wear a vest, the speed of a bullet, the force of it at its impact, it's something that litterally knocks the air out of your lungs, especially if it hits you right on the chest, leaving you breathless for several, infinite, agonizing seconds.

In Root's case, the vest did its job, but the blunt trauma she received from the devastating force of that sniper shot, caused a lot of damage from the inside anyway.

You can imagine her lung filling up with blood within few minutes, rendering her almost impossible to breathe and...

No. You shake your head to get rid of that image because not even you want to think about those details. All you know for sure, is that she could have died even if she was wearing the vest.

You return to examine the medication, pleased to notice that the skin is smooth and that there are no signs of swelling of suspicious redness around the wound.

You breathe out another sigh of relief before fixing the bandage, still unable to get rid of the thought that if it wasn't for you insisting to use the vest on the field, she wouldn't be here now.

Where she belongs.

The thought of losing her, the same thought that hit you when you've listened to the call that John received from Fusco a little more than a week ago, makes you feel so... hollow inside.

The only thing you have always known for sure, the only sensation that always made you feel comfortable and safe, was the weight of a gun in your hand, the coldness of the metal against your skin.

But now...

Your gaze shifts on Root's serene face just as her eyes start to flutter open once again.

Now there is something else that makes you feel safe.

The same thing, and probably the only one that not even Samaritan had never been able to control and replicate with the same accuracy in all its simulation.

Because such uniqueness could never be replicated.

Not even by a god.

But a question still persists in your mind.

So when you see Root blinking the sleep away and focusing on you with one of those smiles that she reserves only for you as she scoots to stay a bit closer and reach a hand out to trace the side of your face and your jawline with her fingers as if to make sure that you are really here with her, you can't help but search for that answer that you need.

"Root? What are we?"

Her expression softens and her smile widens a bit more at your tentative question.

"Oh sweetie..." She says just above a whisper as she runs her fingers through your long hair.

"How about you for me are the one and only partner in crime I ever want, in every possible sense."

You think about it for a minute, kind of satisfied with the answer, but not fully...

You know that she has feelings that you don't think you'll ever be able to live and feel like she does. But ever since Root, you think that maybe you have started to understand them a little better and hear the echo of their whisper where once there was only the voice of your thoughts and instinct. And maybe that's why you can SENSE that there is more into what she just said; by the look that she is giving you, and by the light reflected into those soft brown pools. As if it is something that she is trying to hold back.

And you think you know what that means.

"It's okay," You tell her. Scooting to stay a little closer to her as in a silent form of encouragement. "...you can say it, Root."

The thin layer of control that she was wearing, crumbles from her face at your reassurance and understanding.

You notice the quiver in her bottom lip before she traps it between her teeth, the way her touch falters against your cheek, and mostly the way her eyes well up with tears despite her best efforts to contain them as she swallows before whispering

"I love you, Sameen."

There it is.

And you can't ignore the sensation that swells in your chest in the moment that confession leaves her lips in its pure sentiment.

"I know..." You tell her just as softly, as if afraid to break this moment, and at that simple answer, she smiles at you. So brightly and fully as if you have just reciprocated that sentiment, and maybe, in your own way, you kind of did.

So you lean in for the rest of the way and kiss her, slowly and deeply, trying to convey that something that you don't know how to voice.

But when you pull back from that kiss, the understanding is there, in her glistening smiling eyes, along with the "whatever you are willing to give me Shaw, I'll take it" that is written all over her face, with no demands or anything. Just... Root.

You nod to yourself and after a few moments of comfortable silence she moves to stand up in nothing but her naked, simple, astonishing beauty with the brightest smile on her face, searching for her shirt to put on in the cool air of your room with a bit of difficulty because her injuries are still a bit tender after all, and its right in this moment that you too find a way to ask what you want most and can no longer contain without having to ask for it directly.

"You know," You say to get her attention as you prop yourself up on the bed and continuing when her gaze returns on you, stopping in mid movement of putting her shirt on. "There are more comfortable clothes... Shorts and t-shirts that fit you in that drawer." You gesture to said piece of furniture beside the bed.

She tilts her head slightly to the side, frowning a bit through a confused smile as you swallow, hard, before continuing. "And there is a lot of space in that closet if... you want to hang up some of your shirts or something..."

Now the smile on her face is slowly turning into a full grin, her eyes bright and shining like never before as she realizes exactly what you are offering to her.

"Ugh. Stop with the creepy smile Root."

But just as you tell her that, said smile only widens further, but into an entremely excited one when she give you the "answer" you were hoping to receive through a teasing question and the usual light tilt of her head.

"Do you think you could make some space in your fridge for a few my guns, too?"

You scoff, but she knows that the grin on your face is the real answer.

And just to be sure, you pull her down on the bed again. A gesture that earns you a warm, rich laugh full of sentiment and promises. A sound that you know, you'll never be able to go without anymore, just like you could never go without the rest of that everything for you that is Root.

Because the only thing that the thousand of simulations got right and made you understand a bit at the time and then accept, is that you and Root belong together.

And can exist only together.

So you kiss her smiling lips to reinforce that truth, while thinking that you'll have to buy another fridge.

 _The End_

* * *

 **I just wanted them to have an alternative ending where they are together and happy in that Shoot-way :) Anyway, thanks for reading everyone :)**


End file.
